


November, 1998

by JJK



Series: Life, Interrupted [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
Genre: (what am I doing with these tags? I apologise), Breaking and Entering, Gen, M/M, Shoplifting, protective!combeferre, very mild implications of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJK/pseuds/JJK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or insulted that Combeferre didn’t seem surprised by his far-too-small and much-too-pink <i>My Little Pony</i> tee-shirt which was resting somewhere just above his navel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	November, 1998

_November, 1998 (Grantaire is 26 and 32)_  


Grantaire dived into a side street and fell against the wall, desperately trying to catch his breath. He slumped forwards, hands on his knees and breathed deeply and slowly. His hands and feet were protesting against the chill of night time air and he was shivering violently both from adrenaline and from the cold. It had been summer where he’d come from, being thrust suddenly into an unforgiving Chicago winter was rather unpleasant.  


“Gr-Grantaire?”  


He flicked his head towards the entrance of the alley to see Combeferre bundled into a scarf, peering at him over the thick rims of his glasses.  


“Hey Combeferre,” Grantaire exhaled, standing up and taking a shaky step towards him. He felt Combeferre eye’s sweep across him and grimaced.  


“Nice shirt,” he said calmly.  


Grantaire wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or insulted that Combeferre didn’t seem surprised by his far-too-small and much-too-pink _My Little Pony_ tee-shirt which was resting somewhere just above his navel. He didn’t even comment on the navy blue, obviously women’s track-suit bottoms or bare feet. They’d been hanging on a washing line near where he’d appeared. It was all he could find, okay? And it was _cold_.  


“Thank you,” he beamed, deciding to go along with Combeferre accepting his strange attire. “Not everyone seems to appreciate it though. Man, I never knew my little pony could start a fight.” He laughed, thinking back to the guys he’d just run away from, who were probably still chasing after him. “Um, where are you headed, fancy going to get a drink?”  


Combeferre hesitated. He gave Grantaire a searching look before nodding.  


“I’m intrigued,” he told Grantaire.  


“That’s good enough for me. I know a great little place two blocks from here. You’ll love it, the walls are bookshelves, and they serve everything, you can get _pints of tea_.” He began trotting down the sidewalk, an odd sort of hopping step, which tried to keep his feet off the ground as much as possible. The side walk was almost frozen, his feet were almost numb. Thankfully Combeferre didn’t comment. Instead he kept conversation light, although there was something on the tip of his tongue that he was barely keeping held back. Grantaire began to wonder when exactly this was, and what exactly Combeferre’s opinion of him was at this stage.  


Whatever it was, it was about to be shoved abruptly downhill.  


Grantaire halted outside an Army Navy Surplus store and shot an apology over his shoulder to Combeferre before breaking in with surprising skill and efficiency. He stepped inside and began rummaging through the piles of clothes, too cold to care about anything other than getting himself in _layers_. He dragged a pair of dark canvas trousers and a black tee shirt off the shelves as he heard Combeferre step into the shop and gently push the door closed.  


He stripped without embarrassment. So much of his time was spent forcibly naked, he couldn’t afford to entertain any sort of self-consciousness. He didn’t quite realise how quickly his ribs would have begun to bruise however.  


“My God, Grantaire, are you alright?”  


He buttoned up the fly and shifted the trousers to a more comfortable position on his hips before lifting his arm and turning round. The left side of his torso was turning a lovely shade of dark blue.  


“Oh yeah, it’s nothing.” He shrugged and made to move the shirt over his head, but Combeferre held his hand and stayed him.  


“Grantaire,” he began, before noticing the nasty looking, jagged scar that wrapped around his right arm, just below his elbow. “When did you –?”  


“Ah yes, the summer of ‘02,” Grantaire grinned, wriggling his arm free from a stunned Combeferre he pulled on the shirt.  


“The compound?” he looked confused.  


“No the year.” He froze. “Wait, what year are we in?”  


“1998,”  


“Ah.” He smoothed his shirt down and kept his eyes fixed on his bare toes, wiggling them slightly under his gaze before looking back up at Combeferre and smiling. “Then we’ve only just met,”  


“About six weeks ago,” Combeferre agreed slowly. “Grantaire, what is going on, and why aren’t you with Enjolras, aren’t you supposed to be visiting his parents for Thanksgiving?”  


“Yes. Very possibly. In all honesty, I probably _am_.” He chuckled.  


He was moving about the shop again, he stomped into a pair of black boots and plucked a jacket from a rack, shrugging it on and nodding for Combeferre to follow him out the back door of the shop.  


“You don’t like me, do you?” he asked, bluntly, flicking up the collar of the coat and zipping it right to the top. Somehow he was still cold.  


“I have no reason to dislike you.” Combeferre replied fairly.  


“Nor do you have reason to _like_ me.”  


Combeferre didn’t say anything, but his smile belied his agreement.  


“What did he tell you?” They were walking along the side walk, clouds of icy breath billowing before them. “Enjolras. I know he tells you everything. What did he tell you about me?”  


Combeferre thought for a moment, keeping step with Grantaire before answering.  


“Enough to know that he didn’t meet you at the library for the first time, that you seemed to be friends during his childhood,” he was picking his words very carefully. “That you were a rather _unstable_ presence and that he seemed to think time travel was involved." He shook his head and turned to smile at Grantaire. "Honestly, I thought he was going mad. Until he introduced you I didn’t think you existed. And now, well now I’m not sure what to think.”  


“Stick with me; by the end of the evening, you’ll think you’re going mad.” Grantaire grinned. 

They didn’t make it to the bar.  


Grantaire felt himself slipping before they’d made it down the block. He gathered enough energy to grab Combeferre and pull him to a halt.  


“Whatever Enjolras told you,” he grimaced, trying to hold himself together, hold himself _here_. “It’s true.”  


He began to dissolve, slipping through the fabric of time, just slow enough to see the look of utter disbelief wash across Combeferre’s face.  


-  


_July, 2004 (Enjolras is 29, Grantaire is 32)_  


Grantaire stumbled forwards, throwing out a hand to catch himself against the wall as he materialised in the kitchen. Dizzy and flushed from the sudden warmth he caught his breath and glanced around, disorientated. The blind was rolled up, letting sunlight spill through the trees in the garden and into the kitchen, washing him in a warm glow. The little green numbers on the microwave told him it was 5.15am and the calendar pinned to the notice board let him know it was sometime in July 2004.  
Tingling from the sudden warmth he padded upstairs and gently pushed open the door to their bedroom.  


The window was open, and the curtain billowing slightly in a soft, but still warm, wind. Every time the air pushed it away from the window light exploded across the room, dancing across Enjolras as he lay sprawled across the bed, limbs thrown haphazardly, the sheets hopelessly tangled round his legs.  


If Grantaire’s fingers hadn’t still been shivering from the bone deep chill which had yet to subside, he would have grabbed a sketch book and begun to paint the image into immortality. As it was, he filed it away in his memory for future reference before crawling into bed, pushing Enjolras’ limbs out of the way slightly, and freeing up the sheets a little to immerse himself in them.  


“Mhmmm,” Enjolras murmured as Grantaire placed a soft kiss at the back of his neck. “Where were you?”  


There was none of the accusation a question like that would normally be loaded with. Grantaire knew Enjolras was genuinely curious as to where, and when, Grantaire had slipped away to. Was it a memory he might share? Was it something harrowing that would need cuddles and reassurance and whisky to abate? Or was it a fascinating anecdote in the making?  


“I was with a very confused Combeferre,” he replied gently, relishing the feeling of being warm, of being home.  


Enjolras twisted round to look at him, hand rising up to trace his jaw. “Oh?”  


“It was ’98, just after we met here. I think I now understand his sudden change of heart towards me.”  


He’d always wondered what might have happened to change Combeferre’s attitude from disapproval to complete acceptance. He remained suspicious, to an extent he still was – forever protective of all of his friends, especially Enjolras – and honestly, after the events of that evening, after watching Grantaire breaking and entering like it was the most normal thing in the world, Grantaire could forgive him those suspicions.  


“Did he see you? Disappear I mean,”  


“Yes.” Grantaire nuzzled his head against Enjolras’ warm, bare shoulder.  


A sad smile danced across Apollo’s lips.  


“That was always my favourite part – when I was younger. I thought it was magical,” he whispered, fingers ghosting along Grantaire’s arm. “Until I realised it was taking you away from me. Now it’s the most awful thing.” Grantaire noticed his fingers were trembling. “When you go –” he stopped, inhaling sharply.  


“But I’m back now.” He rolled over and pinned himself above Enjolras, knees bracketing his thighs, chests pressed together. He brushed the soft golden curls, slightly sticky from sweating in oppressive heat of the summer, from Enjolras’ forehead and fixed him with a reassuring stare. “I will _always come back_.”  


He kissed him deeply, trying to imbue it with all of the meaning and emotions that he couldn’t voice; desperately wanting Enjolras to know that to be true.  


Desperately wanting to believe it himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Last chapter before I disappear on holiday for two weeks. Expect more on my return. 
> 
> (ps, come say hi on [tumblr](http://trenchcoatsandtimetravel.tumblr.com/))


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